{"id":71,"date":"2012-09-11T22:21:59","date_gmt":"2012-09-12T03:21:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/writedrunkandeditsober.wordpress.com\/2012\/09\/11\/fresh-meat-for-turtles-2\/"},"modified":"2012-09-11T22:21:59","modified_gmt":"2012-09-12T03:21:59","slug":"fresh-meat-for-turtles","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/2012\/09\/fresh-meat-for-turtles\/","title":{"rendered":"Fresh Meat for Turtles"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Koi<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Koi don\u2019t go for worms, and they\u2019re not suckers for bait, either. People don\u2019t fish koi because they\u2019re bottom feeders\u2014fish who spend their time nibbling algae from green-fuzzed rocks\u2014and the koi wouldn\u2019t be tempted by the likes of a flashing hook with a bit of dangling chum. People don\u2019t noodle koi either, because koi aren\u2019t catfish. Koi are ornamental, fat goldfish\u2014sleek orange and yellow darts of flashing scales\u2014and they live peaceful, dull lives, gliding in slow circles around decorative ponds.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/header>\n

My grandfather, always oblivious to such demoralizing information, decided one day to take my brother and me fishing in the Houston city park. There swam the koi, and there stood us, gazing down at their yellow fins batting the water. Grandad smiled, set up his plastic lawn chair, cracked the tab of a fizzy orange soda, and cast his line into the water.<\/p>\n

I was eight years old, my brother was twelve, and all that morning we\u2019d dug up earthworms and stuffed their writhing bodies in rusted soup cans. Now we skewered the skinny, wiggling earthworms on our hook, tossed in our lines, and waited. We waited all afternoon, and still the koi did not bite.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey must be full,\u201d Grandad said. \u201cOr else they\u2019d bite.\u201d<\/p>\n

After a long day at the koi pond, we gave up. Those damn fish weren\u2019t interested, and there was nothing we could do to convince them. Earthworms weren\u2019t for them, and that was that.<\/p>\n

As much as I hated those stupid koi for not biting, I learned a good lesson that day: don\u2019t waste your worms on the fish that will never bite.<\/p>\n

These days I no longer fish. Instead, I write.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve just started my senior year at Vanderbilt University, where I am a candidate for English Honors in the Creative Writing track. This fall, I\u2019ll draft a thesis for a collection of short stories, and next semester, I\u2019ll write it. Better yet, I\u2019m enrolled in a Graduation Fiction Workshop, which will allow me to interact with people who are just as serious about writing as I am.<\/p>\n

What an exciting time, right?<\/p>\n

What a terrifying time, too\u2014all around us, people are proclaiming the End: if not of the world, then at least of the book.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe book is dead!\u201d cries the modern-day Nostradamus.<\/p>\n

Yet there is the book, like a plague-victim in a Monty Python film, hopping along, crying out in shrill falsetto, \u201cI\u2019m not dead. I\u2019m getting better!\u201d<\/p>\n

And here we are, aspiring writers desiring to write. Sometimes, it feels that what waits ahead is the koi pond: me sitting there, at the water\u2019s edge, attempting to bait my line for fish that aren\u2019t even remotely interested. \u00a0All the koi in the world have gone off to watch movies and play video games and record episodes of The Bachelor<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Perhaps this analogy is falling through. Let\u2019s try another.<\/p>\n

Summertime, and I\u2019m in my grandfather\u2019s backyard. Blackberries are plump and full in the heat, and the garden is sweet with the smell of figs. A mockingbird sings from the branches of an oak tree.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s buy a chicken,\u201d Grandad says.<\/p>\n

My brother and I are perplexed, but not surprised. My grandfather often surprises us, and besides, it\u2019s hot and we\u2019re bored. So we go with him. We walk to the grocery store, and Grandad buys one whole chicken, still wrapped in its thin plastic sheath.<\/p>\n

We follow Grandad back from the store. Instead of making our way back to the house, we trot down a steep, weed-lined hill to the Braes Bayou, a concrete-lined tributary that cuts through my grandfather\u2019s neighborhood. The water is murky and smells faintly of sewage. Green algae floats on the surface of the water. My grandfather unwraps the chicken from the plastic, the tremors from World War II still shaking his hands. The bird is plump, it\u2019s flesh pink and dotted with bumps where its feathers have been plucked.<\/p>\n

Grandad takes one step back and swings. The bird makes its final flight through the air, then lands with a giant kerplop<\/em> in the water. It bobs, settles, and floats. Nothing happens. Then\u2014movement. A turtle head rises to the surface, then another. Suddenly, there are twenty of them, with thin red stripes on the sides of their faces.<\/p>\n

\u201cRed-eared gliders,\u201d Grandad explains. \u201cThey like chicken.\u201d<\/p>\n

The turtles circled, then bit. They tore off chunks of pink bird meat with little jerks of their heads.<\/p>\n

\u201cWow<\/em>,\u201d I said, marveling. \u201cThere are so many.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grandad nodded, grinning. \u201cThere sure are.\u201d<\/p>\n

There are some people who will never read\u2014just like there are some koi that will never bite. But then again, why fish, when you can feed?<\/p>\n

\"_Box<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Koi don\u2019t go for worms, and they\u2019re not suckers for bait, either. People don\u2019t fish koi because they\u2019re bottom feeders\u2014fish who spend their time nibbling algae from green-fuzzed rocks\u2014and the koi wouldn\u2019t be tempted by the likes of a flashing … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a>\"\" Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":951,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12,13,14,15,16,19,36,20],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-71","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","category-creative-writing","category-grandad","category-houston","category-koi","category-vanderbilt-university","category-world-war-ii","category-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/951"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=71"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":131,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/71\/revisions\/131"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=71"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=71"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/my.vanderbilt.edu\/artofblogging\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=71"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}